Free Hunters: A Trilogy by Paul A. Rice

lenses on, Ken was truly able to appreciate the quality of the picture frame. It was made from a type of wood he hadn’t seen before and shone with a goldish-green hue. There were intricate carvings and inscriptions cut into it. They had a mesmerising effect on him and he had an idea there was a story within their graceful flow.
    He had to force his eyes away in order to see the painting properly. It was a wonderful scene, perhaps an aerial shot of the pyramids, it looked as if it had been taken from an elevated angle and Ken saw almost every detail on the group of pyramids in the photograph – that’s what he now thought of it as, a photograph – it was awesome and he guessed that it was probably a recent one as there were people in the picture. They were all dressed up in the local traditional clothing and appeared to be working flat-out on the reconstruction of the stone tombs. Ken concluded it was a print of a photo. He took his glasses off, placed them into the case and slipped it back into his pocket.
    ‘Still, it’s pretty damn cool!’ he thought to himself.
    If he made it out of here, then he was going to find a place for it back home, definitely. Deciding to stash it in one of the offices, he picked up the picture and holding it out in front of him, glass side up, walked to the nearest room. He hadn’t taken three steps when a flash of green light caught his eye, it sparked briefly and then was gone. Stopping in his tracks, Ken peered down at the glass, thinking that it must have been a prism effect from the sunlight shining through one of the room’s high windows. ‘I’m sure I saw green...sure!’ He knew his mind hadn’t lied, he had seen it, and he knew he had. Holding the frame out at arm’s length, he raised it up towards eye level and then looked again, more carefully this time.
    Every hair on his body rose with a crackle; he felt the blood pumping in his neck so hard that it made a pulsing sensation against his jaw. Ken stared at the picture in disbelief, there before his bulging eyes sat a holographic image, an image that was moving gently from side to side like the needle on a compass that wasn’t exactly sure where north lay. It looked as though it was actually rising above the surface of the picture. Time began to stand still for Ken.
    As he stood and stared at the painting, he started to sense his surroundings rushing past, blurring with speed. ‘Engine room, this is your Captain speaking: Full-speed-ahead.’ Ken’s thoughts fluttered alarmingly.
    Spinning around, he stared at the walls of the old room, they hadn’t moved an inch. To his great relief, almost as soon as it had arrived, the whole sensation of ‘moving’ had quickly subsided. He shook his head and turned to gaze down at the picture once more. Ken watched as the image shuddered and swirled in front of his eyes, and, although he knew that he was probably imagining things, he sensed an emotion, as though an angry air of impatience was exuding from the spearhead.
    ‘Come on, come on, man...hurry-the-fuck-up, let’s go!’
    How Ken knew this was beyond him, but he felt it, definitely.
    Then the nausea hit him and the room started spinning like it had before. Ken realised that perhaps now would be a pretty good time to sit down and do some serious thinking. He needed a drink, he needed to scream, and most of all he needed to run. Half of him wondered if it wasn’t the lack of food that had given him the mother of all hallucinations.
    His inner self laughed out loud at the ridiculous thought. ‘Be a man! You’re now firmly up shit creek in a wire canoe, without a paddle! So, get used to it, let’s just see where this leads us, shall we?’
    Kneeling down, he placed the picture gently onto the roughened stone floor of the ancient Afghan building and stayed squatting above it for a few seconds; eventually, and with a cracking of joints, he raised himself to the standing position. Weakness finally overcame him and he stumbled